I never could talk to you. The tongue stuck in my jaw. It stuck in a barb wire snare.
Sylvia Plath 'Daddy'
Having found an interview room that wasn't currently in use, Detectives Frost and Rizzoli led their superior into the small, brightly lit space. Frost found the mirror on the wall slightly unsettling despite the fact he was on the right side of the law. He supposed that meant they fulfilled their purpose. People are more unlikely to lie if they can see their reflection gazing back at them. Frost had never been wholly convinced of the legitimacy of it until he conducted his own interviews, either solo or with another Detective. It was true; somehow, when faced with themselves, many were indeed inclined to be honest.
Frost stood with his back to said mirror. He feared the guilt weighing so heavily upon him might be magnified tenfold by his reflection, or perhaps it may manifest itself in some physical form if he were to stare for too long. He had just spent the last year lying to a man he trusted and respected, if there was ever a time for those mirrors to perform their duty it was now.
"Sergeant, before we tell you this, maybe you should sit down..." Detective Frankie Rizzoli said softly, wringing his hands restlessly together. This was an action that was reminiscent of his older sister, who habitually pawed at the skin of her hands when nervous. It was a habit Jane developed after her first run in with Charles Hoyt and one that she never quite managed to shift entirely.
Sergeant Vince Korsak lifted one bushy eyebrow and took in the sight of the two younger Officers standing before him. It had been a while since Vince last really looked at his colleagues. Not just a casual, perfunctory glance, but with his mind as well as his eyes. He had failed to notice the rapid aging process that seemed to have taken place almost overnight. Both men had lost weight, their eyes were heavy and red, their work suits were in need of an iron, and Korsak wondered when they had last snatched a full eight hours of recommended sleep.
Korsak immediately felt guilty. He was responsible for them. As their Sergeant and as a friend, he should have paid more attention. It was just so difficult to find the time to do anything but work these days. Jane Rizzoli used to shoulder much of the workload and in her absence, they had fallen behind. The fact that no matter how much evidence he gathered or the amount of time he spent on proper reports and filing many of his cases failed to reach a jury didn't help either.
Although he respected the men as colleagues and cared for them as friends he really was in no mood to play games. Not today, not when they were completely swamped under a backlog of cases, old and new. He wasn't getting any younger, and it was days like this he could feel the combined effect of every year of his life catching up with him.
Korsak rubbed a hand over his unkempt beard, regretting not rising early enough that morning to shave those unruly hairs, and regarded his colleagues with tired, bloodshot eyes, "I don't have to sit down Frankie, whatever it is, make it quick. I've got to get down to the morgue as soon as possible; we're still waiting on the autopsy reports on our vic from Pike." The name fell from his tongue like a drop of blood spat with distaste. He rarely addressed the man by his title. Korsak felt the only person around here who deserved to be called Doctor was Maura Isles. That bumbling fool was certainly not on her level either as a colleague or as a decent human being.
In any other occupations, a pompous, self serving idiot such as Pike could be looked upon as a mere nuisance, someone that could be, for the most part, ignored and discussed in jovial terms at the office Christmas party. When someone like Pike had the responsibility of handling important casework that existed alongside conducting practical autopsies, it became more serious. Korsak, quite frankly, was irritated by the fact Doctor Isles had chosen today to stay off sick. Even though he knew that she wouldn't have done so unless it was entirely necessary, he just couldn't shake off the niggling annoyance at being left to deal with Pike in the midst of this massive workload that had unceremoniously been thrust upon them.
Detective Frost shifted uncomfortably beside his partner, attempting to straighten his already perfectly straight tie by way of avoiding making eye contact with his superior. Since the moment he and Jane decided to keep Korsak in the dark about their arrangement, he had been dreading the possibility of having to confess all. The day of reckoning had arrived, and he could honestly say that never before had he felt so sick to his stomach at the prospect of revealing their deception.
Korsak glanced from one man to the other, categorising their facial expressions and body language with a practiced gaze. He could tell that they were attempting to gather enough courage to confess to something. Without having to hear anything from their mouths, but instead by listening to what their bodies were saying, Vincent Korsak was now alert and mentally prepared to absorb whatever information they were about to divulge.
Alone in the small interview room, the three men looked every inch seasoned professionals. Only when standing directly in front of them would one notice the fatigue etched in every crevice of their haggard faces. Without the presence and expertise of Detective Jane Rizzoli, the team was left with no choice but to alter its dynamics in order to survive. And they had achieved nothing more than pure survival. Arrest and conviction rates were down, Cavanaugh was under constant pressure from the powers that be to improve their statistics, and despite the fact that many Officers were now aware of the corruption seeping into their hard work there was nothing to point them in the direction of putting a stop to it.
Frost swallowed thickly, still avoiding looking directly at the Sergeant, and said, succinctly, "I lied to you Sir," in a voice that, thankfully, held steady. Sensing Korsak was waiting patiently for him to continue and wasn't prepared to interrupt yet, he continued, "A year ago, Detective Rizzoli and I discovered a trail of corruption that led up through certain individuals working alongside us, directly to a member of the Boston City Council... Theodore Newman. He had someone in his pocket at every level, and when he became aware of the fact Rizzoli and I were investigating him..."
Frost broke off, the painful memories still difficult to reflect on, even now. Frankie jumped in, "He started threatening Jane. His men stalked her, Sir, assaulted her at every turn with threats against her and everyone she loves, including Maura. And even TJ for chrissakes," The barely disguised rage and disgust present in the young Detective's tone was the only thing maintaining Vince Korsak's composure.
The moment the words 'He started threatening Jane,' left Frankie's mouth in a rush, the true reason for Janie's unceremonious departure under a cloud of scorn immediately took shape in his sharp mind.
Having recovered, Frost took over the explanation, "Eventually, we decided that our only option was for Rizzoli to leave. We ran out of time, we ran out of resources and to be honest, he had us running scared. It wasn't a decision we made lightly, to keep you out of it... We wanted to keep everyone safe, or as safe as we could manage..."
Korsak sucked in a deep breath, feeling his lungs expand painfully with the effort of restraining a knee jerk reaction to start shouting.
"Are you trying to tell me," Sergeant Korsak said with forced calm, removing the reading glasses he was slowly becoming more reliant on to allow his hands something to concentrate on other than the strong desire to reach for his gun, "That you let me believe, for an entire year, that Detective Rizzoli left of her own volition, for questionable reasons. You allowed me and everyone else in this department to believe that she might have been dirty?"
The levelness of Korsak's voice was perhaps more terrifying than any screams or shouts could ever be. When Korsak lost his temper it was a terrible sight to behold, but this calmness and stillness was just as unsettling. Frost had the distinct feeling that it was doing an excellent job of disguising the pure, visceral rage roiling inside the Sergeant like an approaching storm on the horizon. As intense as his gaze was, Frost couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from the older man's hands, which were diligently and deliberately polishing the same spot over and over again on his glasses.
"Yes," Frost stated simply, unable to defend his actions any further. He needed to be honest; he needed to release the wealth of lies and pain that had been building inside him for so long, "Yes, that's what we're telling you. We made what we believed to be the right decision at that point." He hung his head like a child chastised, "I'm sorry Sir. I am truly sorry for lying to you."
In another situation, in another time, perhaps if he was a younger man, Vince might have lost his temper. He was angry, yes. He could feel the rage bubbling just beneath the surface of his outward calm. He was also confused; this new information was yet to make complete sense to him. However, his mixed emotions were, for the moment, being kept at bay by an overwhelming amount of pity and sorrow.
Korsak took a breath, "So what's changed? Why are you telling me this now?" He growled, running a glare over each man's face, leaving them feeling like school boys as opposed to Detectives.
"Because she's back Sir. She's back," Frankie chipped in, "We brought her back after finding some new information that we think..."
"Hope," Frost corrected sharply.
"That we hope we might be able to use to expose the people helping Newman, and eventually, bring him down!" Frankie sounded excited. His entire face seemed to glow animatedly and Korsak found himself having to look away from the outpouring of enthusiasm he was witnessing. It made the Detective ache to see Frankie looking so young and hopeful when they had been stripped of such luxuries for almost a year.
Korsak chewed on his lower lip for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was clipped and hard. It was the voice of someone who had lost patience. "I want to hear the whole story. After we're finished here, you're taking me to wherever Jane is, and you're going to explain everything to me. Everything," He enunciated gravely, "And then we'll discuss the fact you kept this from me for a year."